The World breaks Everyone
by mangacrack
Summary: Maglor is in a fool mood, but Maedhros knows how to deal with it. So does the rest of the family. Most of the time.
1. Chapter 01

**Author Note: **This is was born because Mira_Jade gave me her prompt list some time ago. I started with the first and let's see where it takes me. This particular fic deals more or less with Maglor. Be aware of headcanons and unreliable narrators.

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Usually Maedhros doesn't mind when his siblings visit him at Himring. It means he could spare himself the energy to hunt them down. When Celegorm's conversations with various animals fill the hallways, Maedhros is thankful the hunter stayed put for a few heartbeats at least. When the Ambarussa use the shadows of his fortress to scare his soldiers witless by appearing out of nowhere, he only joins their play of hide and seek and Himring gets wary of the red shade of their hair.

Maedhros hums to whatever noise his brothers produce. It's an old and familiar sensation embedded into his skull, a distraction from the silence of his own thoughts with only the howling winds as company.

What disturbs him is Maglor's toxic presence. His brother is in a fool mood, otherwise he would singing. Maglor always makes noise unless something has rattled him. Now he's brooding, sitting on a bench in the great hall with one knee drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around it. His eyes barely visible beneath his unbound hair he still stares holes into anyone who dares to walk by.

Maedhros hall is empty because of it.

Out of all brothers his soldiers wisely fear Makalaurë the most. As warriors who face Angband's fumes daily they all learn to deal with the Fëanorian Lords sooner or later. Advice how to handle the brothers are passed around like currency but even the ancient lords of old who made the journey twice avoid Maglor when he snarls at them.

They all fear him and yet don't understand why when Maglor is of a smiling kind of being. Very few see the power wrapped up underneath the kind smiles. With Maedhros standing beside him on the battlefield it's easy to overlook how relaxed Maglor is face to face with danger. That he travels alone sometimes, simply to visit his brothers no matter how many miles and orcs stand between them. But Maedhros doesn't worry over the Kanafinwë – him least of all. It's Celegorm usually with his shifting mind, his growls instead of human speech and too animalistic behavior recently.

No, Maglor has the freedom to come and go as he pleases and while his brother is armed with a fine sword, he doesn't use it often. Either he asks the nature to hide him from view and like always Arda is charmed by Makalaurë's fine voice or he makes you forget you've seen him in the first place.

Caranthir once complained that orcs wander his lands because encountering Maglor and his people leaves them confused without any sense of direction. Consequence was the patrols found the orcs murdered in their sleep since even they surrendered when Maglor softly sings one of his lullabies.

The brave among their kindred challenge his brother to a battle of wits. The wise prefer it if he doesn't speak at all.

The scratching of a pen on paper is the only sound breaking the silence but as his older brother Maedhros feels Maglor's thoughts swirling like a leaf in a storm. Only after Maedhros has finished his letter – his seasonal debate with Curufin that Celegorm's talents are no use for anyone if he's more animal than elf – he turns to the brother he first held in his arms.

Since they are the only once in the hall he tilts his head and Maedhros looks at Maglor directly to meet the raging beast.

He notices that the eyes are nearly white. They've been for quite some time. Ever since father left them, Maglor's eyes reflect any light that hits them. It makes it increasingly difficult to hold his gaze, especially for outsiders.

(The only elf who ever dared to compare Maglor's eyes to the Silmarils in Maedhros presence was never seen again.)

All of this makes Maglor a frightening creature. He's everything the living mind refuses to comprehend. For the Moriquendi he's the phantom of the gods they have never seen themselves, for men he's the power that is gifted to the elves by their birth. Strangely it's the dwarves he gets a long with. Perhaps because the Khazad prefer the dark silent earth the open wailing sky and recognize danger with ease.

Maglor is violence with forethought and the dwarves find him refreshingly honest for an Elf.

„I demand to know what's bothering you," Maedhros finally addresses the issue when Maglor continues to stare at him. „I haven't seen a single soul ever since you drove the last soldier away. If you chose to hibernate in that corner of yours, I would like to know beforehand."

The answer is a hiss.

Images flash through Maedhros mind. A burning plain between high mountains. A moonless sky above and the stares hidden by black fumes. A single figure ahead, surrounded by winged demons higher than trees. The echo of rising despair when Fëanor is cut down one time too often and the once god praised throat won't release a single sound.

Finally the touch of Maglor's memories fades and the eldest son blinks. Then he blinks again.

Maedhros is releasing a sigh before he raises from his chair to approach his brother and settles beside him to throw one arm around Maglor's shoulders. He's using the bad arm for it because he needs his remaining hand to bury his fingers in Maglor's uncombed hair.

Words are hardly enough to sooth the shame burning in his brother's soul.

Since this is his little brother Maedhros has no need to hide his stump from view and uses it to pull the trembling body against his chest. Among his sibling his reservations easily fall away and uses his maimed arm far more often. They don't shy away when they feel the scarred tissue on their skin which makes it simpler to hug them.

His hand is stroking Maglor's head to relieve him from the assault of his far to vivid memories. The stump moves up and down over Maglor's back. There's hope Maglor would finally drop the unshed tears but out of experience he know it takes the privacy of their bedroom for it.

„You couldn't have saved him," Maedhros says and it sounds like an absolution. It has too, otherwise Maglor doesn't believe his forgiveness is true. „It's difficult to come to terms with but none of us could've. We were unprepared, overpowered or too far away to help him."

The years of fighting against orcs taught him this. At that point there was little what they could've done to safe Fëanor. Morgoth had needed an outlet for his anger because by now Maedhros followed the theory the Dark Valar hadn't meant to be discovered when he stole the Silmarils and burned down the trees. Perhaps it had been his goal to blame Ungoliant, appoint her as the enemy to make himself the hero but Morgoth hadn't counted on Fëanor's sharp mind, no matter how riddled with grief it had been.

„I miss him," Maglor finally speaks up, tugging at Maedhros' hair. „I miss father so badly."

Sensing the self-blame beneath that sentence – as true as it was – Maedhros kisses his little brother on the top of his head.

„He didn't want us to die with him," Maedhros whispers fiercely. „It was his choice to die. His death was a sacrifice. Our troops would've never been ready in time to respond to Morgoth assault. He surprised all of us with that ambush."

Maglor responds with a muffled wail, crying into Maedhros tunic like a toddler. Perhaps his voice truly failed him that day but Maedhros couldn't discern Maglor's scream from his own back then.

_He'll blame himself either way, _Maedhros thinks.

Just like he knows that Celegorm blamed himself for his delay. He has the strong suspicion that their hunter retreated into his mind because for him Father was the sacrifice for freeing the Falathrim. Little wonder Celegorm turned towards his animals, lost himself in their cycling patterns of life and death and preferred their simple needs over his own emotions.

_Father's loss nearly destroyed us, _Maedhros admitted and hugs Maglor a little closer.

But he doesn't remember that period of time very clearly anyway. Much vanished beneath pain and confusion after he had been taken. Continuing to comb through Maglor's hair, letting his little brother cry his way back to humanity, Maedhros wishes for the sun to settle. The pain is easier to bear beneath the cover of their shared bed, with their bodies pressed together and their minds entwined under the pretense everything would be alright again.


	2. Chapter 02

Maglor's eyes are white. Few notice the lack of colour because the whiteness reflects any kind of light, thus painting his eyes in the shade of his enviroment. At night his eyes are dark, near the sea they appear grey and around his brothers they are dyed red. But theorectically they are white. The fire in his mind burns everything away. The brightness of his soul shines through them but the most of the time Maglor knows how to avoid the gaze of others.

In Aman Laurelin and Telperion basked everything in their light and his eyes adjusted so no one noticed. In Beleriand the sun burns over their heads in a cruel, revealing manner and the Moriquendi only see Aman when they look at Maglor.

His eye color is seldomly an issue. Its an oddity, doesn't hurt him and is in truth just a side effect of the fire in his soul.

Sometimes Maglor curses his father with satisfiying ferocity. Who else but Fëanor is resonsible for the restlessness he feels? On occasion Maglor is torn between pitying and envying his litte brother. Curufin's hands are never idle, always creating, working with a skill that is Fëanor's own. But unlike their father's, _Atarincë's_ mind is peaceful and quiet. It's driven by logic, numbers and the laws of nature.

No, Maglor _hates_ Curufinwë. He wants to strangle him and scream at him because for all his reputation, he isn't _father_ and doesn't understand why Maglor has been so irritating lately. Of course he's going to apologize, but only when it's its over. In that way Curufin is a good brother. He huffs and looks annoyed, yet in the end he leaves you alone.

Right now Maglor prepares a meal for them. Something rather complicated to keep his hands busy. His mind drifts when peeling potatoes doesn't clear his mind and songs start to float around in Maglor's head. Forms, shapes and colors. All fragmented of course but Maglor likes to put them together. Sometimes it's like a puzzle to figure out, today it's more like weaving, connecting the fragments through his touch.

"Cáno," Curufin calls him. Maglor blinks, trys to push the colors away. He can barely see the table in front of him.

"Yes?" He responses with a question when he looks up. His brothers appearance seems to be far away.

Thankfully Curufin is patient. Unlike him, who got energetic Tyelkormo as first little brother. Then Carnistir who wasn't any better.

So instead of answering, Curufin points at the dinner table. Maglor sees blooming flowers growing from it in beautiful tendrils while next to the half cooked meat sits the spirit of a rabbit, hobbling around in confusion.

"I apologize," Maglor says quietly and wonders if he has to kill the rabbit a second time.

"No songs of power at the dinner table, please," Curufin answers with a sigh and sounds like father.

But it's just his voice. The command is mother's since father would've let sing until the flowers became large trees with fruits they could eat. Working with father was fun and easy. Father understood how the limits of the physical languages, created by guttural sounds of the throat.

_Still hungry?_ Maglor puts his suggestion close to Curufin's mind. While his little brother doesn't reach his level of mastery, he still catches the thoughts easily and responses with a hummed argeement. As much as Maglor enjoys the use of language sometimes, the easiness with which words and meaning can be bend, he prefers the use of _oswanë_ in privacy.

It's far easier. More honest. Words are the manipulation of sound and air. Songs are the same, just intervoven with intention. In Aman they praised his golden voice despite his own troubles to understand why it was so special when it's just another way of _asking_ someone to do something. But that was in his early youth. Here in Beleriand, in his adulthood with his father's lessons in his mind, he understands his own otherness. He doesn't use his voice to carve beauty, his songs are a tool, a means to an end.

Eru build the world with his voice. Songs aren't meant to be treated with reverence. They're laws. Laws on which the universe runs. Law of conversation with reality.

His brothers know that. Before, with father still alive to care, it was a childish notion. A way to annoy his sibling. After the darkness came Maglor insisted on educating his brothers. They had be able to tell differences between a pasttime and a weapon that could safe their lifes.

"We appreciate that you wish to keep us safe, Incáno," Curufin says with a smile, using a nickname Maglor earned a long time ago.

Yet to call him _mindmaster_ is a reminder. He plots and picks schemes apart when his siblings cannot see them. With an affectionate growl, he hugs Curufin. Under much protest but Maglor is still taller than his little brother, even it's just a little and feels only content when he has Curufin safely in his arms.

Finally the little brother surrenders. He's practiced with Maglor's lack of dialog. His big brother seldomly _talks_. He sings or prods at your mind when he wishes to hold a conversation.

Curufin huffs when Maglor attempts to shuffle through his mind. The phyiscal contact brings their fëa closer and it almost melts when they touch. For a few moments they are one being, one bright mind born from the same fire.

Forcing himself to relax, Curufin allows the contact to continue. Meeting Maglor like this isn't easy. He doesn't comprehend boundaries and his mind is without end. In the dark hours of doubt and fear, Curufin believes this is what the void must feel like.

Big. Vast. Endless.

But he knows better. Curufin is aware that Canafinwë's mind isn't a door into darkness, matter how clumsy he always feels when stepping through the newly drawn door. Like always Maglor encourages him to come closer, taking him by his hand to draw him in.

Curufin groans. Makalaurë's mind is alien to him, like the workshop of a craft he has little knowledge off but his brother still forces him to look at a concept, study it, remember it until Curufin comprehends what it means.

It's not always easy. It's like the time when father put the Silmarils into his hands and asked _How did I do it? _No matter how much time passes or many theories he writes down the answers always stays the same.

It's always _I don't know. _

But Cánafinwë is aware of this. Curufin can see it in the white eyes when they study him.

_And yet you love me_, he wonders.

When Maglor finally draws away, returning to his attempt to make dinner, he leaves his little brother standing in the middle of the room. Dizzy from the swirling emotions dominating him, Curufin thinks of his own love for his brother. _I don't speak your language. I don't comprehend the images you show me and yet I'm unable to doubt your love. _

Returning to his previous task, Curufin muses how much of this certainty was actually his own.

In the corner of his eyes he sees Maglor's mouth twitch.

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**A.N.:** I've always wondered about oswane and the impact it can have. Are there some Elves who don't _talk_ if they don't have to? How much of it is telepathy / empathy? Does it work over long distances? Unlikely, but it would add to how alien elven minds could be. Galadriel uses it in LOTR with Elrond.

I doubt it's like working a cellphone. It's too impersonable. Sinces elves fade when their spouses die, I make the use of oswane between partners partly responsible for it.


	3. Chapter 03

**Author's note:** There's no true plan for this story. I just write what the prompts (chapter titles) give me to think about. Expect time jumps and different locations / people in each chapter. Suggestions are welcome.

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Rain was pouring outside and the door creaks when opens and a gust of wind pushes it against the wall with an ugly noise. All eyes travel to the entrance, curious what kind of visitor they should expect at this kind of hour. Most eyes belong to warriors who just returned from a shift or where about to leave. They're trained to wander the land unseen, to observe which gives little room to actually surprise them.

Yet when a huge dog steps in, barely able to fit through the door many eyebrows rise. A few hands immediately travel to knife and sword handles, but their Lord stopss them.

„No," Makalaurë says, eyeing the large, wet dog with his white eyes. A lazy smile curls around his lips. „Leave him be, he's not dangerous. I have been expecting him."

Careful nods are given and meaningful glances are exchanged when the dog simply walks down to the end of the hall where Lord Makalaurë has his seat. Usually he worries about reports from his spies but today he's relaxed and his lips stretch into a wry arrogant smirk when the hound approaches him. When Lord Makalaurë is finally in reach, they greet each other like old friends. The muzzle of the hound nudges against Makalaurë's chest who runs his fingers through the thick fur in return.

„He is Huan," their Lord announces with a honest smile. „You'll proceed like always while I'm going to collect a towel for our ... guest."

Makalaurë leaves the hall, humming a joyful tune. His spies end up shrugging and return to their tasks. A few narrow their eyes in suspicion when the black dog attempts to climb on Lord Makalaurë's throne. Not that Huan would care for their glares, the dog curls up and closes his eyes.

Yet a sharp whistle disturbs his sleep. The sound carries through the thick walls of the mountain and Huan's gaze travels to the door Maglor disappeared through. With a deep growl the dog drags his body down from the throne to follow the call clearly meant for him. Even the soldiers know that. Anyone in Makalaurë's cardre is familiar with their Lord's voice and refusing a personal address takes willpower few possess.

They all watch the dog vanish into the shadows, far to silent for a normal animal.

The dog only bares his teeth when he reaches Maglor. Finding the elf is easy with his nose, and even easier for Huan, attuned to his scent this his birth.

The Lord of all Voices in Beleriand is already waiting for him, in his personal bedchamber none less. Huan waits by the door but Maglor suggests to step closer. Soon fingers run through his thick wet fur and a lean human body presses against the animal.

„I missed you so much," Maglor says and buries his face into the dog's shoulder. „You had us all worried."

Taking Huan's face into his hands, Maglor looks at the dog with quiet despair.

„You vanished from our sight. Not even Ambarussa could find your tracks." The caress turns into a full embracing hug, Maglor clinging to the large dog. „Don't do that again. Please, Tyelkormo. Never again."

The dog lets out a sigh. Its form quivers, blurs around the edges and when the shifting stops Maglor is holding his brother in his arms, hands touching a human face.

„Didn't mean to stay away that long," Celegorm murmurs, voice hoarse from disuse. „Got into a fight with Curvo and when I stepped out to calm down I lost any sense of time. Hadn't a human thought in weeks."

With a shaking breath, Maglor hugs Celegorm a little tighter. He cares naught that his little brother is still naked, like always when he loses his fur. Only the hair is a bit longer than usual and Maglor's grip is is enough to wring rain water from it.

„Don't leave," Maglor begs, seeking to smooth his distress at the old fear of losing his little brother. „Don't leave again."

For Celegorm it's normal to come and go as he pleases. He could vanish for days and turn up just when father had collected a company to track him down, grinning with leaves in his hair and at least one tooth short.

In Aman Maglor didn't care. The brothers always knew Tyelkormo would turn up again sooner or later. But Beleriand is different. Open, dangerous with orc's waiting at every turn. Though they tend to leave animals like Huan alone. Too difficult to hunt and Huan's teeth are sharp.

How often Celegorm would return with blood around his mouth? Quite enough.

He kept them fed in the first days after they reached Beleriand in utter darkness. They lived entirely on meat these days, not knowing what else was edible.

When Celegorm realizes that Maglor refused to let him go, he says, „I promise I won't disappear like this again. I didn't mean to be away so long."

It sounds honest and Maglor knows Celegorm, the fair elf means what he says. But Huan is an animal, a beast and human thoughts are beyond him. It's only a matter of time until Celegorm runs off again without plan or determination, only led by simple animal wants and needs.

„Can you stay a while?" Maglor asks, knowing it would be the only way to keep Celegorm human. „Help me out a bit?"

„Of course," Celegorm grunts. „But only if Nelyo stays away. I can do without the lecture."

„I can't promise it, but Ambarussa is scheduled to arrive with supplies in a few weeks if it helps," Maglor answers and finally lets go of his brother.

Celegorm drags himself upright, a little unsteady on his feet after he had been running on four legs for weeks. He makes his way to Maglor's bed. Without his fur the air is too cold and he's still naked. As soon as Celegorm's head hits the pillows he's out like a light, mind and body too exhausted to care.

Maglor watches his brother for a long time, fearing he vanishes if he does so much as blink. Despite his words, there was no guarantee if Celegorm would be still in this bed next morning. Maglor hoped as much, he missed his brother.

Months without contact, almost two seasons were too much to bear.

Oswanë worked best with spouses or relatives. Men and animals were difficult sometimes, depending on how long their mind had been exposed to elvish minds. It got always easier with time. Yet Huan was neither men nor animal. Not even Fëanor truly comprehended what exactly Oromë taught his son. At least he hadn't shared his knowledge with Maglor or the rest of his children.

„Sleep well," Maglor whispers when he joined Celegorm later, hugging him from behind to keep him from leaving.

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**Author's Note:** I had this idea for a while and wanted to explore it. I didn't mean to turn Celegorm into Huan, but once I had the tought, I couldn't let go of it. No clue what it would mean for the Luthien Story, but perhaps someone is willing to write it. A shapeshiting Celegorm accompaning the lovers on the quest for the Silmaril …

Here I just meant to create an escape for Celegorm. Being an animal isn't so far for someone who can speak with most of them. Especially since he's still a hunter. He still kills and eats them despite the fact he understand animals far better than the rest of his kind. I wanted to show some of the possible repercussions it could have. Since Celegorm isn't a vegetarian, I lean to somekind of split personality.

The human, the animal and after Alqualonde: the beast.


End file.
